


Gone

by darkshadows



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Accident, Death, M/M, Sad Dave Strider, Sadstuck, almost suicide, shitty hospitals, worried lil bro
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-25
Updated: 2013-08-25
Packaged: 2017-12-24 15:46:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,791
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/941721
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darkshadows/pseuds/darkshadows
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Basically, it's sadstuck. I don't want to spoil anything for you, so I won't say anything about it. I might continue this, depending. I haven't decided yet.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Gone

You nearly dropped your cell phone. You were speechless.  
And it wasn't often that you were speechless.  
“Hello?” the nurse said.  
“I, uh...” You clear your throat. “I'm here. Sorry.”  
You didn't want to listen to anything else the nurse had to say to you. Nothing she said could give you hope, make you feel better. She already gave you the worse possible news you could ever hear.  
You pinched yourself, hoping it was just a nightmare. Nope. You were wide awake. Fuck.  
“He wants you to come down.”  
You sigh, snapping back to reality. “He... he does?” Another deep breath to keep yourself in control.  
“Yeah. Should I tell him you're on your way?” She sounds impatient, you note.  
“Please. Thanks.” You hang up, not really meaning the thanks.  
You slip the phone into your pocket, grab your keys, and was out the door in seconds.  
“Bro?”  
You stop just a few feet down the hallway and turned around to see a little sleepy Dirk in the doorway of your shitty apartment.  
“Hey. I'm going out for a bit. I'll be back soon.”  
Dirk looked at you, concerned.  
“Where're you're shades?”  
You didn't even realize you had taken them off. Shit. Dirk would defiantly know now that something was up, and he would demand to know what it was when you came home.  
You quickly walk past him, glancing around for your shades. You see them on the counter. You grab them and slip them on, walking out the door again.  
“Bro?”  
“Yes?” You turn around to look at Dirk again.  
He stared at you for a moment. You could tell he was debating what he was going to say. “Nothing. See you when you get back.” He turned around and shut the door behind him.  
You don't waste time wondering what that was about. Instead, you quickly get to your car and start it op, pulling it out of the parking lot. You don't pay attention to the people and cars around you. You just go. You're a few miles above the speed limit, but you don't give two shits right now.  
Soon, you're pulling into the hospital parking lot. You don't want to be here. It's a place of misery and depression and drugs and hurt and pain and death...  
You quickly park the car and, with a heavy sigh, get out.  
You were lucky enough to find a parking spot pretty close to the doors. It shouldn't have surprised you as much as it did. It was 3:30 in the morning.  
You were quickly inside. Everything was going fast. Too fast. You didn't like it.  
“Can I help you?” a nearby nurse asks.  
You quickly collect yourself and get into your cool kid facade. “Yeah. I'm Dave Strider. I'm here to see-”  
“Yes, I know. Follow me.” She must be the nurse you had talked to on the phone.  
She takes you to the back, where the E.R. patients are waited on. You peer only slightly into the rooms. It was sad, depressing. You never liked hospitals. Whenever Bro used to try to take you to the hospital after a rough strife on the roof, you would complain and whine until he decided not to take you. The place wreaked of sick old people. And death.  
She stops suddenly in front of a room and knocks lightly. You watch a doctor open the door. He looks at the nurse, then at you. When he looks back at the nurse, he gives her a slight nod and sighs a little. You didn't like the tone of the sigh. It was like he was giving up.  
The nurse looks to you. “You can go in.”  
You hesitate for a second, but move past her into the bright room. It takes your eyes a minute to adjust, even behind the shades. You look around the room. You smell blood.  
You don't want to be here. You really don't want to be here. You want to go home and go back to bed and wake up and find out this was all a dream. You want to wake up and find him next to you and hug him tightly and kiss him and whisper that you love him and that you never want to lose him or let him go. You want to spend the entire day with him and make him feel special in every ironic and non-ironic way possible. You want to take him to his most favorite place in the world and make him the happiest person alive. You want to watch shitty movies with him and hold him close and laugh at all the stupid shit he loves about them and get slapped on the head by him and watch as his face breaks into that goofy smile you love. You want to take him to bed and hold him closer and give him sweet kisses and have him fall asleep in your arms.  
You want to be anywhere with him but here.  
You finally look over at the bed. You see that he's looking at you.  
You stop breathing. You can't find air. Just looking at his slightly cut up face knocked all air out of you.  
“Dave?”  
Your mouth is slightly open, you suddenly realize. You close it and get your poker face on.  
You don't want to be here.  
You slowly make your way to the bed, now looking at the floor in front of you, not looking at him. You don't want to. You don't want to see his broken body or his cut up face again.  
“Dave.” he says again. It sounds happy, like he's got everything he's ever wanted right there in front of him. He reaches for your hand and grabs it. “I'm so sorry, Dave. I should have been paying more attention to the road. I shouldn't have been-”  
“Shut up.”  
“Wa... what?”  
“I said shut up, you dork.” Your voice it completely monotoned. He squeezes your hand.  
“Dave.”  
“Yeah?”  
He doesn't say anything. There's a few moments of silence before you look up at him again. You look at every little cut on his face closely, then step forward so you can examine each one. He's breathing lightly.  
After looking and examining each one, you bend down slightly to kiss him gently.  
“...Dave.”  
“What?”  
You're still really close to him, your free hand on his cheek, gently stroking it with your thumb. You can feel his breath on your nose.  
“I love you.”  
You look up into his eyes. They're telling you everything he doesn't want to say. They're telling you that he's not gonna make it, that he's sorry, that he knows he's hurting you and he hates himself for it. They're telling you that he really does love you and he's not just saying that, that he cares, that he wants you to be happy, that he wishes you two could be home watching a dumb movie while cuddling on the couch.  
“I love you, too,” is all you say, then you gently kiss his forehead.  
You pull up a chair to sit next him, never letting go of his hand. As soon as you're sitting, you never take your eyes off him. You stare into each others eyes, holding each others hands.  
And you talk. You talk about the day you guys first saw each other, when you guys started talking to each other, when you became friends, then best friends. You talk about the day that he told you he was not a homosexual. You tell him it was the same day that you were going to confess your love to him.  
He laughs.  
It's not the laugh you're used to hearing. This is a very different laugh.  
And it makes you worry.  
“Dave. What's wrong?” he asks quietly.  
You don't answer. You just grip his hand tightly and look away from his eyes, at his shoulder.  
“Dave?”  
“Hm?” You don't look up at him.  
“Look at me.”  
You don't want to. You want to ignore the request. You don't want to tell him what's wrong. That you know from his eyes that he's not going to make it. You don't want to look into his eyes as he dies, as he leaves you, as he takes everything away from you, as he practically rips your heart from your chest, leaving you unable to breathe.  
But you look back into his eyes anyways.  
His eyes are filled with worry. Not for him, but for you. You suddenly hate yourself for that. He should be worrying about getting better, not what's wrong with you. It makes you feel selfish.  
“Now tell me what's wrong.” His voice is filled with sympathy. It sickens you.  
“...Nothing,” you lie.  
His squeezes your hand. “I'm sorry.”  
You hate how that sounds, how it smoothly rolls off his tongue.  
“Dave?” His voice is filled with worry.  
You suddenly realize you're crying. John brings his free hand over and wipes the tears on your cheeks.  
“I... I'm fine,” you say. You can hear your voice cracking.  
John suddenly cringes back in pain. You hold your breath, hoping with everything you have and are that he's okay.  
He starts coughing and lets go of your hand. You watch as blood starts coming out of his mouth. Then nose.  
Holy shit! What do you do? What do you do?  
Doctors and nurses come in, trying to stabilize him. If it were anyone else in that bed coughing, you would have gotten out of the way. But it wasn't just anyone. It was your best friend for years, your lover, you air, your everything.  
It was John.  
You stay right there, not breathing, watching as John dies.  
The machine beeps. And doesn't stop. John's eyes are lifeless. And empty. And the person that you loved is no longer there.  
You get up, practically running out the doors. You don't go to your car. You run out of the parking lot towards the nearest highway bridge.  
He's gone. You have nothing left. He was everything to you. Then he went and died. You loved him. You needed him.  
You climb over the edge of the railing, your breathing heavier now. You grip the railing from behind you. You take a deep breath and...  
Your phone rings. For some reason, you instincts are telling you to answer it. You don't want to. There's nothing left in the world that would make you stay. You take your phone out anyways.  
And, as you look down to see who's calling, you realize that you're wrong.  
You bring the phone up to ear, take a deep breath, and answer.  
“Yeah?”  
“Bro?” Dirk says, sounding a little scared.


End file.
